


Mondays Aren't So Bad

by obriensbetch



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: All-Knowing Diggle, Bad Days, CEO Oliver, Canon Divergence, EA Felicity, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Bullying, Implied Relationships, Office Sex, POV Felicity Smoak, Protective Oliver, Sassy Felicity, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Subtle Love Declarations, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obriensbetch/pseuds/obriensbetch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity hates Mondays almost as much as she hates cliches like hating Mondays... But this Monday might just turn around when Oliver comes striding into the office with some startling news.</p><p>~ </p><p>Quick One-shot of passionate hate, love and aforementioned. Please take tags into more consideration than my absolutlely abhorrent summary, i'm so bad at these!!!!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mondays Aren't So Bad

**Author's Note:**

> so i want to officially apologize for sucking at summaries and also titles to everything. so so sorry!!!!!
> 
> also, dont even front, everybody loves hot passionate office love declaration during angry sex, no? just me? ok, then.
> 
> sorry, for my utter lack of shame.....

Nobody hates clichés more than Felicity Smoak, but that does not mean she is above loathing Mondays. They are the _absolute_ worst. She spends every weekend –not to mention almost every evening –in a dark cold basement surrounded by weapons, computers, and the muscliest CEO of any company ever, hacking into databases for information that could land her in prison. Then she gets up at six o’clock in the morning, takes a shower (doesn’t think about her muscley CEO boss, because _just no_ ), and goes into work where she is surrounded by gossiping coworkers, computers, and –oh! –the muscliest CEO of any company ever.

So, even though it is the worst of the clichés, yes. Felicity occasionally hates Mondays.

And occasionally she vocalizes.

“That’s it. I _hate_ Mondays!”

Diggle continues his walk to her desk and sets her usual hazelnut coffee down on her desk. Today there is a smiley face drawn next to her name. Her face is not smiley. He chuckles at her expression, which only causes it to twist even more angrily.

“Meghan from Human Resources is my new arch nemesis and our number one vigilante’s partner is from hell, the place.”

“Good morning to you too, Felicity. And yes, I slept fine.” The mirth in his grin is like coal to her fire.

She grinds her to teeth, because it’s some way to vent, and grabs her coffee. It’s a little cool, but she doesn’t comment because it’s a nice gesture and she never has to ask. She glances over Digg’s shoulder, frowning. It’s unlike John to come in to QC without Oliver. She wonders if something is wrong, and her curiosity, unfortunately, burns hotter than her anger.

“Where’s—“

“On his way up. He’s having a private chat. Didn’t need my protection.”

Felicity’s eyebrow raises. Since when did Oliver have conversations too private for them? She debates prying before deciding to focus on ranting instead. Because _Mondays_. “Why do all the bad days have to start the week out? Why can’t any Monday ever just be, like. A half day. Or _something._ No, seriously. Think about it. All the rumors start on Monday. All the evaluations happen on Mondays. Every bad guy just decides to parade around being all bad in the beginning of the week! You laugh now, but you just wait and see when next Monday your house catches on fire.” Her eyes widen as what she’s said sinks in. “ _I didn’t say that!! I didn’t say that!!_ That _totally_ won’t happen. Please don’t wait and see!”

John is close to tears now, and her mood lifts marginally at the realization that this is probably the first time she has ever seen anyone make him laugh. But then she thinks about that bitch Meghan from Human Resources and her anger flares up once again. The elevator ping causes John and her to look up in expectancy, and out comes Oliver in one of his gorgeous fitted suits. She watches him stride toward her desk just like every morning, and (just like every morning) the sight sends a fluttery feeling through her insides. She gets that familiar lightheaded feeling, as if her whole day depends on how the next few minutes go. She hates that feeling on Mondays, because it’s hard for her to control her secret emotions when she’s already blindingly livid.

“Felicity.” He says in greeting when he’s in front of her desk. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She wonders which of the two crushing feelings is overpowering her facial expressions right now (deafening ire or agonizing heartbreak) and is given the answer when Oliver’s smooth façade slips easily from his face.

“Oh no.” His face shows wary concern. “What happened?”

“Meghan from Human Resources,” John intones in response, face a mask of perfect manners, though –because Felicity _knows_ him –the mocking undertone does not escape her.

Oliver’s gaze doesn’t leave her, though he does wince. He meets her eyes as he raises a hand toward his door and pleads, “One moment?”

With a huff, she follows him to the door and steps through, expecting to be followed by both men. John, however, must’ve been forewarned, because he quickly retreats once the door is closed and disappears down the hall. She stops in front of Oliver’s desk, eyebrows raised.

“Mr. Queen?” The sarcasm is not lacking, yet Oliver doesn’t respond with anything more than moving around to the opposite side of his desk.

She watches him sit down warily. Finally he speaks. “Would you sit?”

“No, Oliver. I won’t. Today already sucks and I would like to stand for whatever it is you want to say, okay?” She says, voice rising with each word.

“Okay then, just—“

“And I will not be calmed or eased or smooth-talked, because –yes –I am very angry at Meghan (my supposed friend) from Human Resources and your stupid Russian partner with the super model legs is so rude that I could just spit—“

“Right, but—“

She knows she shouldn’t, but she doesn’t let him finish because it feels really good to have a sounding board. And also, the more she talks the more things she finds herself angry at.

“—And my coffee was cold this morning, just like it is every morning that is a Monday, but I can’t ever say anything because I know John takes the long way to get me that coffee from the break-room—“

“Um, Felicity?”

His voice is almost amused now, and that makes her even madder. She doesn’t even realize she’s rushed forward to stand directly in front of his desk until the fronts of her thighs hit the edge of it and she can smell his hot freshly brewed coffee wafting up from where it sits on his desk. Her eyes flash. He gulps.

“And I am so tired of having to get up at five-twenty on a _Monday morning_ after I’m exhausted from spending all night long with you –and that _came out wrong, but you know what I mean_ –and I hate that stupid tie, it’s so bad. I don’t know who made it, but I wish they wouldn’t have—“

Her voice is coming out all high and squeaky and rushed now, the way it does when she has run out of things to yell about, but she still feels like yelling. Her eyebrows are furrowed over her eyes that are gray-blue in her fury and her peach-colored lips are pursed. The sound of her breath feels the room, as her chest heaves in her tight blue dress.

Oliver doesn’t make a move. His hands rest on the edge of the desk, left pointer finger rubbing rhythmically against his thumb. His own lips are pinched together as he waits, appraising Felicity’s state. She glances angrily down at that stupid navy blue tie again. Honestly, what a dumb design. Especially for a plain black suit like that. One that fits so snugly against his button-up shirt, revealing how impressive his chest is just inches under the surface. So dumb.

“I just had an enlightening discussion with a Miss Meghan Sanders down in the break-room,” His words were soft, tentative, but they cut like a knife straight through all her anger.

“About a certain bulletin board with a certain polling with a certain CEO’s assistant’s name on it.”

Felicity’s heart pounds murderously in her chest, threatening to rip her right open. She feels her hands go slick where they’re clenched stiffly on the wooden desk. She doesn’t move a muscle, eyes glued on that damn tie. Her teeth grind excruciatingly against each other as she fights the inevitable closing of her throat.

“I fucking fired her.” Felicity’s gaze jerks up to his face, surprise forcing her into motion. This time his voice is hard, serious, and deadly. “I told her that she was a wicked, jealous bitch that needed to stick her nose elsewhere, because the offices of Queen Consolidated were no longer her place of work. Except with much less grace and much more volume. And cursing.”

She can’t help it, she’s staring at him in utter shock. Her heart has decided to forgo ripping through her chest in favor of leaping up her throat. The wetness in her eyes feels both humiliating and completely dignified. Still she is frozen in her stance.

“Needless to say, I think the only thing people will be whispering about in the break-room from now on is the CEO’s melt-down, in which he tore a corkboard off the wall and threw it at the candy machine.” Oliver’s lips quirk up for a second in disjointed humor, but his eyes are forlorn. He continues, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

With that, Felicity deflates. All of her muscles’ tenseness drains out itself out, and the breath she hasn’t realized she’s been holding whooshes out loudly. Weeks –and if she’s honest, months –of stress and worry leak from her as her boss, her Oliver, concedes the truth. All the Mondays are finally let go of, as there is no reason to hide them anymore.

A single tear of relief slips out, but is quickly wiped away.

The tension is suddenly –not so subtely –weighing on them again, and Felicity couldn’t look away if she wanted to. She feels herself gulp involuntarily as she thinks about what he did for her, how angry he sounded. _Hurt_ , was more the word. He was hurt for her. Her eyebrows raise just a fraction as she feels that same fluttery feeling from before. Except now she’s not so angry, and she can’t bring herself to care that there is no way on God’s green earth he can be staring into her eyes the way he is, and not notice how much she fucking adores him (and oh god, did she really just say that?).

Oliver’s eyes flick down to her lips where her tongue has habitually just moistened them. His gaze follows that direction, lingering on her fragile neck and grazing past her chest, waist, lower. She thinks she can actually feel his eyes on her and it sends shoots of tingling zings down deep inside her. When his eyes find their way back to her face, it’s like she is already undressed, his gaze taking what it already needs. She feels exposed and vulnerable, as if she’s opened herself up to him and received nothing in return. She recognizes the gnawing ache in her gut as _need_ and she _needs_.

Without thinking, Felicity already has one knee on the desk, hoisting herself forward as both arms reach. She finds, however, that she doesn’t have to reach far, as Oliver is catapulting himself forwards in the same moment. They meet directly above his desk, her hands clutching the collar of his shirt, his strong arms gripping her by the hips as their lips collide.

At first, it’s all teeth and tongue, carelessly pushing and pulling, both wanting all while simultaneously wanting to give all. But after a moment of finding synchronization, she pulls away, takes a breath and says, “We shouldn’t be doing this, Oliver.”

The idea that she might be preparing to end what has barely even begun spurs Oliver forward, where he grapples at her waist, pressing a feverish kiss onto her already swollen lips. She responds beautifully, sliding a cool hand around his neck and holding him in place. He murmurs into her lips, “Fuck super model legs and supposed friends from Human Resources—“

She groans, opening her mouth and granting his tongue inside. He roves through, exploring every part of her, playing with her tongue with his own. “And fuck getting up at five-twenty.” (He nips at that lower lip –eliciting another _sinful_ moan –that has been teasing him for months.) “Come in at noon.”

Oliver’s hands slip swiftly round Felicity’s perfect ass, lifting her easily, and pulling her fully across the desk, so that she’s pinned against him and the desk. Neither of them notice the papers, files and writing utensils that scatter across the floor in the process. A warm bubble of pleasure is pooling in her lower belly and she can’t get enough of herself pushed up against the line Oliver’s long hard body. He pulls back, much to her discontentment, and whispers, heavy lidded, “I will burn the tie –hell, I’ll burn the whole damn suit—“

And she can’t let him finish, she just can’t. The image of this amazing suit being ripped off of him is just too much for her. She yanks his lips back down on hers, one hand sliding under his suit jacket grappling at the skin, the sinew, underneath. The other hand rests on the back of his head, pulling lightly against the slowly growing buzz-cut he sports so gorgeously. The tug sends an almost growl through his chest, and he sucks her lip into his mouth as his hands caress her ass, using their grip on her to keep her apex pressed firmly into his hardness. She gasps slightly at the contact, and finds herself rocking into him.

“Fuck the goddamn break-room coffee,” he croons, but his voice sounds fucking wrecked and it’s the sexiest thing she’s ever heard. “I’ll buy you a Starbucks café.”

A bubble of jittery giggles fill her throat and she pulls back a few inches to grin widely at him. Seeing him like this, need filling his pale blue eyes, lips parted and slack jawed with lust for her, it sends heat straight through her body, hardening her nipples and sharpening the ache in between her legs. She bite sher lip just to feel something and that does it for him.

“ _ **Fuck**_ ,” he growls, arms stretching out behind her and wiping everything left on the wooden desk (including that delicious-smelling coffee) onto the floor. The arm still wrapped around Felicity presses her to him while the other lifts her from under her ass onto the desk and she quickly gets the idea, laying back in assent. He bites his lip, heat spreading through him at the sight of her lain out for him like this. He leans over her, pressing himself into where her spread legs meet to kiss her chastely on the lips. She pouts as he pulls back, but sighs in relief when she feels his hand slide up her soft tan thigh. His thumb swipes languidly along her opening, happy to discover she is wet and ready for him. The moan that follows the touch is an assent to that, in itself.

He quickly pulls her panties down her legs and wads them up, tucking them into his pocket (she notices, with a shiver) and unzips his pants. Oliver wastes no time dropping his pants and underwear and stepping out of them, freeing himself at last. Felicity gazes up at him from where she lays, spread wide, glasses askew. She gasps at his beauty, his stunning. He’s large and thick, already hot and flushed in anticipation. She can feel herself clenching at his sight alone. Before she thinks about it, she murmurs, “I’m going to have fun with you.”

Oliver’s eyes shutter closed at the words and he grabs himself on instinct, rubbing against his slit where a few droplets of precome are all ready to be smeared. Felicity licks her lips and sits up on her forearms. She reaches forward and flicks Oliver’s hand away from himself. Quickly she gives her a hand a nice spit and clutches the base of his length. The sound he makes, then, is so dirty and so wrong she almost smirks. “Stop, I won’t last – I need you, please –“

He opens a drawer in the desk and pulls out his wallet, where he quickly locates a wrinkled condom wrapper. She nods vigorously and squeezes him between her fingers. He gasps and makes quick work of the condom. She feels him lining himself up and then suddenly he pushes in and she gasps at the fullness, the newness, of him. He waits, letting her get accustomed, until she is reeling back into him, searching for some friction. Finally, he grasps her hips tightly and presses in as far as he can go, circling and grinding against her clit, making her breathing hitch and causing her hand to clutch at his arm as she calls his name.

He starts to move, to rock, in and out of her and she arches her back into it, meeting him through each thrust. His hand grazes up her stomach and to her breast underneath her dress as his thrusts become faster and faster, moving with less grace, as his pleasure builds. His hands are firm, but gentle, running the pad of his thumb against her hardened nipple, sending arches of pleasure straight to her sweet spot. She feels as if she is teetering right on the edge of the pounding and pushing pleasure and blinding bliss, and with one last pinch of her sensitive nipple between his fingers she comes with a shout.

A few more shuddering thrusts into her, her hands reaching around to stroke his balls, and he is stuttering into her, his body curling inward and calling her name roughly, throat scratchy.

Her name on his voice sends a thrill directly to her heart as she comes down from the best orgasm she has ever experienced (not that she will _ever_ admit that).

“Baby,” he murmurs into her clavicle, where licks at her salty slick skin, and she gulps.

“Best orgasm I have ever experienced,” she says breathily, reaching up to wipe at the beads of sweat on his brow.

He kisses her chest, laying his head there in exhaustion, and purrs, “It was all you, baby.”

“It was us,” she amends, softly, voice hitching at the realization of what has just happened.

“Me and you, forever, love,” he says again, lifting his head and resting his chin on her heaving chest so that they can look at each other, both faces soft with smiles.

Suddenly the beep from the phone shoved into the corner of the desk sounds, and Digg’s voice hums out of the speakers. “I’m really glad you two aren’t fighting anymore, but –just a friendly reminder –Oliver, the walls to your office are 75 percent glass, meaning it is _not_ soundproof and it is _definitely very_ translucent. Just… for future reference.”

~

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> so that very -- unexpectedly -- escalated into a very emotional and angsty story, whoops.
> 
> sorry bout that.
> 
> btw, really really sorry about this just morphing into porn halfway through. i don't know, it just sort of happened//
> 
> k, so I realized i wasn't really clear... Meghan had poll on betting whether or not Felicity and Oliver were sleeping together, thats why she hates mondays... poll day.
> 
> (Edit: in the like 45th paragraph, I changed 'five' to 'noon' bc I realized it might seem like he was saying, you know, five in the morning and no.)


End file.
